


somebody better put you back into your place

by salazarsslytherin



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Discipline, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: “Close the door please, Freddie,” Brian says, pointedly holding out a hand.  Hooked on his index finger is the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign the venue provided them with.Freddie messes up Brian's solo during We Will Rock You and suffers the consequences.





	somebody better put you back into your place

It’s been a great show, amazing energy from the crowd and they’ve played their fucking hearts out, sticking true to their blind-and-deafen-‘em mantra.Roger’s smashing the We Will Rock You beat out of his drums and Freddie’s at the front of the stage, waving an arm at the audience and belting out Brian’s chant. 

It’s always a good one, it gets the blood pumping—something about doing this song just has Freddie soaring.  Maybe it’s because it’s the high at the end, the culmination of all the adrenaline of the night finally reaching a fever pitch.

It’s that crazed excitement that seizes him during Brian’s solo and possesses him to swing his mic stick around and smack him on the ass with it.  

There is, admittedly, a very satisfying _THWACK_.

It’s funny for about half a second (the half a second _before_ it hits, in hindsight), but Brian starts and his hands slip.  The mis-hit chords jar badly on the sound system, turned up to the absolute fucking max and then some, and it’s horribly, horribly noticeable.

Freddie feels _instant_ , immediate regret.  If he could turn back time he absolutely would just to take back that handful of seconds; he wouldn’t alter anything else, wouldn’t stop wars or save lives.  No, he’d stop himself from being so colossally stupid so Brian May’s dignity would be saved and Freddie’s ass with it.  

Messing up Brian’s solo means the entire thing has immediately gone from being a bit of harmless fun to an unforgivable crime.

Brian gives Freddie a look that promises he is in a fucking _world_ of trouble once they get off stage before turning his back on him and finishing the song down at the front. 

Freddie slinks over to the piano to play what may as well be his own death knell, his fucking funeral dirge.  Oh, Brian is going to be _insufferable_ about this and Freddie only has the all of three minutes of Champions to continue living his facsimile of peace before he has to face the music, so to speak.  God, why didn’t they make this song another Bohemian Rhapsody and drag it out? 

But Freddie is a professional (a hero, frankly) and he doesn’t his let inner turmoil on to his audience, though he does make a show of clasping hands at the front of the stage, half hoping one of the fans will drag him off and kidnap him.  

No such luck, the ungrateful bastards.  Why don’t they want to drag him into the crowd and smuggle him away?  What the fuck is the point in even _coming_ to his show if you’re not going to at least _try_ and do that?

And Roger, the asshole, doesn’t eek his solo out at the end either; no fancy tricks or little extras to keep the crowd screaming and Freddie’s poor ass happy for a few moments longer.  And he surely _knows_ what this all means for Freddie.  He’s an awful friend, really, Freddie oughtn’t put up with him.  

The final crashes sound and then it’s nothing but screaming while Freddie takes his time sketching lots of dramatic bows and blowing kisses, until he turns around and sees Brian already walking off.  He hands the Red Special to a roadie and Freddie’s heart skips a beat.  Brian _never_ lets any of the roadies have that fucking guitar.

Roger catches his eye and snorts, mouthing ‘Good luck!’.

Freddie does the brave thing and _fucking flees_ , tearing past roadies, stage crew, and John Deacons alike as he sprints through the wings, nearly tripping over himself in his haste.  

It’s stupid but automatic; he ends up in their dressing room.  He slams the door shut behind him and leans against it, very pleased with himself for escaping, then realises that Brian’s _bound_ to find him in here and he’s going to be trapped once he does.

Turning on his heel, Freddie yanks the door back open, only to shriek in surprise at seeing Brian very calmly walking down the corridor toward him.

The door is slammed shut again and Freddie quickly locks it.  He’ll die in here, that’s fine.

Brian’s footsteps arrive outside and stop.  

“You may as well open the door, Fred,” he says steadily.  “It’s only going to be worse for you the longer you try to avoid it.”

Freddie wasn’t born yesterday so he doesn’t open anything.  “Brian, _darling_ ,” he says instead, just a tad pleadingly, “it was an accident, I promise!  I didn’t mean to hit you that hard at all and I _certainly_ didn’t mean to ruin your solo.”

Silence.

“Not that it was _ruined_ ,” Freddie hastens to add.  “ _I_ thought you sounded splendid, I’m sure nobody noticed.”

More silence.

“Look, why don’t I make it up to you, darling?” he continues desperately.  “We’ll go back to the hotel, I’ll rub your back, give you a nice long blowjob and we can forget all of this.”

“That sounds great, actually, Freddie,” Brian agrees, unexpectedly, and Freddie’s relieved hand is already on the handle to open the door.  “You can do all that _after_ we’ve talked about what just happened.”

Freddie yanks his hand back.  He’s pretty fucking sure there won’t be much _talking_ involved.  “ _Darling_!  I said I was sorry.”  He knows exactly how Brian will want to punish him and Freddie doesn’t much fancy having to stand up all day tomorrow.  Why oh _why_ did he have to fall in love with a man who has a fucking _spanking kink_?

And why oh _fucking why_ did he decide to _hit him_ earlier?  

“Open the door, Freddie,” Brian commands and Freddie crosses his arms to prevent automatic obedience from taking over, a genuine concern when Brian talks like that.

“I don’t think I will,” he calls, in an attempt at a light sort of casual tone.  It’s probably fucked up that this is getting him hard but at least he knows full well Brian’s in the same situation just outside.

“Alright,” Brian concedes, dangerously casual.  “You sit in there as long as you like, then.  I’ll be right here when you’re ready to open that door.”

Unfortunately, Freddie’s painfully aware that Brian is the more stubborn of the two of them and _will_ sit there all night if that’s what it takes.  Which means Freddie either has to sit in _here_ all night ( _not_ going to happen), or he has to admit defeat (almost equally unappealing) and open the door to accept his fate.  

“Phoebe will come for me,” Freddie declares confidently.

“I sent him back for the night,” Brian says, effectively puncturing that brief balloon of hope.  “Told him to have a drink on me.”

“Ratty, then.”  Freddie knows he’s reaching.  “He’s always in here after the free booze.”

“Let’s wait and see, shall we?”  

It’s said with such confidence that Freddie can’t help but think Brian’s distracted the crew as well, somehow.  Most likely they just saw the look on his face as he strode off-stage and wisely decided to avoid him for the night.  _Bastards_.  

“Roger,” Freddie says at last.  “He’ll want to go out tonight.”

“Roger knows how much trouble you’re in, he’s gone out with Deaky.”

_Traitors._

“Nobody’s coming, Fred,” Brian says—needlessly, really, as he’s just made it quite clear that Freddie can’t count on any of his so-called friends to come and rescue him.  “It’s just you and me.  So why don’t you open the door?”

“I _did_ say that I’m sorry, Brian,” Freddie reminds him.  He shifts his weight from foot to foot, tugging at his jeans to try and rearrange a bit and swallowing back the flutter of nerves that comes of _knowing_ he’s got to open that fucking door and let Brian in to have his way.

Freddie gives himself a slight shake to steel himself.  He’s got to do it; he really is only making things worse for himself, making him wait like this.    

_Right_.

Quick as a flash, Freddie’s hand darts out to unlock the door before he can think better of it.  

Brian doesn’t open the door himself and Freddie silently curses him for making him do it, but slowly opens the door and fixes a bright, innocent smile on his face.

“Darling!  Hello!  May I say you look _particularly_ handsome tonight.”

Brian walks past him without a word and Freddie has to take a quick, steadying breath because there’s a sudden, biting tension in the air that makes him feel shivery and almost high.  He is _uncomfortably_ hard and Brian hasn’t even touched him yet.

“Close the door please, Freddie,” Brian says, pointedly holding out a hand.  Hooked on his index finger is the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign the venue provided them with.

Freddie stomach swoops and he bites his lip, hard, but he takes the little sign without protest and walks over to open the door again.  The corridor outside is empty and quiet and Freddie valiantly hopes it stays that way for the next while or he’ll never live it down.

He hangs the sign over the handle and shuts the door with a click.

“Lock it, please.”

Freddie locks it.

God, he does love it when Brian’s like this; it keeps him on his toes like nothing else.  Freddie’s heart is already hammering double-time, cheeks flushed and warm.  It’s the only buzz that can make him feel as alive he does onstage and he doesn’t have to be anyone else to do it.  He can just be himself here and let everything else go, doesn’t have to think about anything except what Brian tells him to.

When Freddie turns around Brian’s watching him, calmly running a chunk of ice over his thumb to soothe it after the show.  A useless pursuit, really, because if Brian gets his way (which Freddie suspects he will) his hand will be sore again very soon.  He looks taller than ever like this, standing straight for once and using his height to every inch of its advantage.

“Shall we talk about what just happened?”  

He’s already using _that voice_ and Freddie’s knees are instantly weak.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says again, utterly sincere.  It’s a rare thing for him to apologise, let alone so many times, but he knows it’s not going to help him now.  

“Mmm.  You know, Fred, if you wanted to be punished so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

Brian tosses the ice cube aside to let it melt in a puddle somewhere across the dressing room and closes the distance between them.  He towers over Freddie like this, stood tall and looking down.  “So ask for it.”

Freddie arches a mulish eyebrow.  He’s not going to make this easy.  “I’m not going to _ask_ you to punish me so you can get your rocks off.”

“You will,” Brian says with unwavering confidence, and his hand is suddenly between Freddie’s thighs, cupping the obvious bulge there and squeezing.  “Or you won’t be getting off, either.”

Oh, _fuck_.  Freddie tips his head back without meaning to, lips parted around a silent moan he only just manages to keep back.  He tries to press against Brian’s hand but it’s gone again almost instantly.  

Brian doesn’t step away, keeps close inside Freddie’s personal space without touching him.  

“Ask me...nicely.”  Brian’s so fucking _smug_ , like he just _knows_ he’s going to win this and it only makes Freddie _determined_ not to lose this time.

“I don’t think so, darling,” he manages to get out, though he’s not proud of how his voice wavers.  Brian can always affect him like this, he’s always been able to take Freddie down almost without trying, almost without Freddie realising, just slipping into the floaty fantasy of it with Brian there to steer him right.

Brian’s hands are at the button of his jeans, popping it open and slowly unzipping the fly and Freddie’s hips jerk automatically, pressing for more.  

For a moment Brian’s hand is on him, stroking him to full hardness, then he sinks to his knees and tugs Freddie’s jeans halfway down his thighs.  

Fuck, oh _fuck_ Freddie already knows he’s going to lose, even before Brian opens his mouth and takes his cock inside.

“ _Fuck_.”  

Brian doesn’t stop, takes Freddie nearly all the way in one fell swoop.  He sets the pace torturously slow; easy and careful, long, lazy strokes with his tongue with his hands tight around Freddie’s hips so he can’t try and take over.  

Freddie groans above him and grabs his shoulder.  “Fuck, Brian, that’s not _fair_ , _fuck_ —like that, _yes_ , oh _fuck_ darling—”

He’s enjoying it but he won’t come like this, not if Brian keeps at it nice and slow—it’d take ages and Freddie’s not patient enough for that.  Brian can out-wait him any day of the week, knows how to bring him _just_ to the edge and keep him there for however long he decides to.

He sucks just gently, just _enough_ , and Freddie lets out a strangled groan.

“More Bri, _please_ , don’t tease me like this.”

It’s really not going to take long if he’s already begging.  Brian cock twitches just at the thought of what he has in mind and he pulls off so he can speak.

“If you want anything else, Fred, you know what you have to do,” he says steadily.He closes his mouth back around the tip and shoots Freddie a look to say, _Go on, then_. 

Freddie doesn’t; Brian can _see_ him grit his teeth, feels the hand on his shoulder go tight with feeling, but Freddie is stubbornly silent.  

Brian goes even slower than before this time, just barely grazing Freddie with his tongue, and he lets one hand wander, fingers dipping into the crease of his ass to probe gently and Freddie jumps and gasps.  He tries to thrust and Brian’s hands both jump back to his hips, holding him bruisingly tight so he can’t move.  

Brian counts in his head and makes a bet with himself that Freddie won’t hold out for three minutes.  

He’s wrong, but only just.  At one hundred and ninety two seconds Freddie gives in.

“God, _fuck_ , punish me, then!” he bursts out, giving Brian’s shoulder a slight shake.  

Brian doesn’t stop.  He’s waiting for something else.

Freddie’s hips are straining against Brian’s palms but it’s no use.  He gives in, entirely.

“ _Please_.”

Brian pulls off immediately and looks up at him.  “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ , fuck, I’m sure—do it, darling.”  Freddie is flushed and bright-eyed, a bead of sweat running down his neck.  

Brian gets to his feet and turns his back.  “Take your jeans off.  I want you over here.”  He settles himself on the sofa, legs spread, and shamelessly watches as Freddie unlaces his trainers and strips off his jeans, throwing them carelessly aside.

He’s rock hard and leaking but he knows better than to touch himself without permission when Brian’s like this.  Brian’s so hard himself it’s a physical _ache_ to resist slipping a hand into his own jeans but he does.  It’s better when he waits; he loves drawing this little game of theirs out as long as he can and, while it would feel good to jerk himself off now, it’ll feel so much better to have Freddie undress him later and see to it himself.  _After_ he’s been punished.

Brian beckons Freddie over in silence.  

Freddie comes to him and allows himself to be arranged, bent over Brian’s knees.  He’s breathing hard, fully engaged now, and wraps one hand around Brian’s ankle to center himself.  

“We’re going to do ten,” Brian tells him.  He’s so calm it drives Freddie mad sometimes but like this, it just drives him deeper into the dream of it; that sure voice, keeping him steady.  Keeping him _right_.

Waiting for the first one is the worst and the best part.  Freddie never knows where it’ll land or how hard it’ll be and all of him tingles in anticipation.

Brian makes him wait half an age before the blow finally lands with a loud smack that fills the room, a sharp hot sting that makes Freddie jump and groan at the same time.

“Count,” Brian commands and Freddie blows out his breath in one quick gust.

“One.”  

Freddie ducks his head at number two, his teeth gritting together because Brian isn’t holding back at _all_ and the sting of it overtakes him for a precious moment, nothing else in his head or his body but simple _feeling_.  Heart hammering hard against Brian’s leg, his cock making a mess of Brian’s jeans he’s leaking so much.

The world reorients itself as the feeling washes away, the sting begins to dim, and Freddie realises why.  “Two,” he says quickly, and lets out a cry as three follows immediately, right over the second.  Brian did that on purpose, he knows, and bites his lip hard.

“Three.”  His voice is ragged already and he squirms as Brian runs a hand over the hot handprints he’s left on him so far.

“Well done, Freddie,” Brian says calmly—the bastard, he’s really dragging it out this time.  If he’d just deliver all ten in quick succession Freddie might be left in one piece after but he knows just how to take him apart.  “You’re doing so well for me.”

Fuck, it’s the praise, always the _praise_ , that absolutely wrecks him.  Freddie lets out a low moan and tries to shift and push against Brian’s leg but he’s well-positioned; he can’t get any relief against his cock, he’s entirely at Brian’s mercy and he’s apparently not feeling very merciful tonight.

The fourth and fifth land one after the other, left and right, on already heated skin.  He’s so sensitive Brian’s fingers just skimming over his ass sends a shudder right through him and he nearly comes on the spot, holding himself back only through sheer force of will.  

“That’s it,” Brian says softly, tracing delicate patterns over the bright pink marks he’s left.  “Halfway there, baby.”  He waits, just watching for a while, lazily running his fingers back and forth until Freddie’s shoulders begin to relax.

Then he smacks him again, harder this time, and Freddie lets out such a loud yelp Brian glances at the door, sure someone’s going to pound on it and tell them off.

He waits expectantly until Freddie gasps out his, ‘Six!’ before settling his hand gently over the curve of Freddie’s ass and stroking him again.  

Freddie groans, his hand going tight around Brian’s ankle.

“Fucking get _on_ with it, darling,” he demands shakily.

Brian swats him for that.  “We’ll go to fifteen, I think,” he decides, and Freddie mumbles ‘Seven’ and shuts up.

Number eight Brian delivers so hard it makes his palm sting almost unbearably and he half-wishes he’d kept his ice cube from before but if he’s honest, feeling it makes him all the more aroused.  And however bad his hand feels, he knows Freddie’s ass is going to be feeling ten times worse and Brian can admit to himself that he gets off on that, too.  

“Eight,” Freddie says hoarsely, breathing hard.  He keeps moving his hips, trying to wriggle into a position where he can at least grind on Brian’s knee but Brian doesn’t budge.  Instead he sets his other hand on Freddie’s back and pushes down.

“Lie still, Freddie, or I’ll make it twenty.”

The threat works; Freddie stops squirming though Brian doesn’t miss the shaky sigh he lets out.

Nine and ten Brian delivers quickly, across Freddie’s thighs rather than his ass, and the wrecked way Freddie counts them has him tipping his head back, biting down on his own lip so he won’t groan aloud.  Thank God he already upped it to fifteen; to stop now would kill him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Fred,” Brian tells him raggedly, just stroking him again while Freddie tries to steady his breathing.  “So good for me.  Nearly there, now.”  Brian continues stroking for a few moments before slowly slipping his hand between Freddie’s thighs, nudging them apart so he can reach down and wrap his fingers around Freddie’s cock.

Freddie jerks and lets out a cry, hips bucking, and Brian lets go of him.  

“Fuck, Brian, _please_ ,” Freddie groans.  

“You’re very hard, Fred,” Brian comments, forcing his voice calm and almost bored, like he’s just mildly curious.  “I think I could have you come like this, over my knee.  Do you think so?”

Freddie’s shaking his head but Brian’s not actually sure he’s fully listening.  He’s wriggling again.

“Lie _still_ , Freddie, I won’t warn you again.  You’re going to come like this,” he decides, his own stomach clenching with hot arousal as he says it.  “Five left; you can come from this or not at all.”

“Brian— _ah_ , eleven!”

Brian’s hand is hot and stinging but he doesn’t hold back—only four left, now, and he wants to make them count.Who knows when Freddie’ll let him do this again.

“God, Brian, I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” Freddie gasps out, counting his ‘Twelve’ and desperately straining his hips when Brian’s hand comes down again.

“Three left,” Brian teases ( _taunts_ ) him.  “I hope you’re close.”

“I can’t, Bri, _please_ , you know I can’t— _fuck_ , thirteen!  Christ, _Brian_ , _please_!”  He’s just babbling and Brian ignores him; Freddie can say that he can’t all he likes but Brian knows him better than he knows himself, especially like this.  Freddie’s been so close before, only needed the slightest of helping hands to send him over the edge after they’ve done this—Brian’s sure he can manage it and if he can’t, denying him this time will ensure that he does next time.

“Ssh, not so loud, Freddie, or everyone will hear,” Brian says, returning to soothingly rubbing the sore areas, watching transfixed.  He loves the way this looks, especially on Freddie.  Loves the way his hand fits so perfectly over the red and pink prints.  Loves the way they’ll last, how Freddie will carry them with him and Brian will be able to see them tomorrow night and the night after and nobody else will know.  Just them.

He indulges himself for another minute or two, listening to Freddie start to catch his breath, before he spanks him again.  It catches perfectly, the sound of it seems to ring in the air in sweet tandem with Freddie’s high little moan, caught deliciously between pain and pleasure.  Brian so badly wants to kiss Freddie while his mouth is open around that sound, wants to swallow it and take it for his own.  

“Fourteen,” Freddie counts breathlessly.

He’s still very subtly trying to rock his hips against Brian, as though he won’t notice, but Brian lets it slide.  At least he knows Freddie hasn’t managed to come yet if he’s trying to grind on him.

“Last one,” Brian tells him.“You’ve done so well, Freddie, you’ve been amazing for me.You’re so good, aren’t you?”

Freddie doesn’t reply but Brian doesn’t need him to.  He picks his spot and brings his hand down, the hardest yet, fingers spread wide.  It’s hard enough that Freddie actually shouts, swearing, his head shooting up before he flops back down, panting.

“Fifteen,” he sighs out.  He doesn’t move to get up and Brian doesn’t take his hand from Freddie’s back to suggest that he should.  Instead, he dips his hand back between Freddie’s thighs to part them, careful not to touch his cock this time because the slightest thing will set him off, and looks to check that Freddie didn’t come.

“Oh dear,” Brian says, taking his hand away and resting it feather-light back on Freddie’s ass.  “Looks like you won’t be getting any relief tonight, Freddie.”

“No, Brian, _please_ , please don’t do that to me,” Freddie bursts out, hoarse and desperate.

Brian tuts sympathetically.  “I told you, Fred—like this or not at all.  So unless you want me to continue…”

“Yes, go on,” Freddie says quickly.  “Do it, darling, _please_.”

Another burst of desire floods through Brian; he didn’t even have to tell him to say please that time.  “You want another one?”

“ _Yes_!”  Freddie’s more than desperate by now, trying so hard to rock against Brian that he’s bound to unseat himself soon.  

Brian blows cool air on his palm for a few seconds, making Freddie wait.  When his hand cracks down Freddie lets out such a moan that Brian thinks for a second he’s finally done it, but he just gasps out, “Again, do it again!” and Brian is only too happy to oblige.

“You don’t have to keep counting,” he says, then smacks him several times in quick succession, all over every bit of Freddie’s ass and thighs he can reach, until Freddie bucks his hips and lets out a long, shuddery moan.  

Brian wastes no time at all and slips his hand between Freddie’s legs to get hold of his cock, roughly stroking him through it now that Freddie’s done as he’s told.  “That’s it, I knew you could do it, Freddie, _well done_.”  Brian’s never been more pleased or aroused in his fucking _life_ , he can’t believe Freddie actually just came from that.  “You’re so good, you were perfect,” he murmurs to him, over and over once Freddie’s gone limp and boneless and his cock’s spent in Brian’s hand.

Now that Brian’s focus isn’t so laser-intent on Freddie, the hardness in his own jeans is almost impossible to ignore but he has to sort Freddie out first.  “Come here,” he says soothingly, leaning forward to get an arm around Freddie and haul him up.

Freddie’s legs are loose and don’t want to cooperate and he hisses as he’s moved but Brian doesn’t make him go far.  He arranges him carefully half over his chest, face-down so he doesn’t have to sit until Brian can get some salve for him, and wraps an arm tightly around him as Freddie buries his face in Brian’s neck.

“Are you okay, Fred?” he asks, one hand cupping the back of his skull and gently winding his fingers through his hair.  “You with me yet?”

Freddie gives him a cursory groan of reply and Brian kisses the top of his head as he works open the fly of his own jeans, unable to resist any longer.  He shoves a hand into his boxers and grips himself hard, stroking barely half a dozen times before everything in him tightens up and he comes over his fist, trying to tamp down on a loud moan and failing miserably.  

He tips his head back and closes his eyes, biting hard on his lip as he carries on, pushing through the aftershocks and lifting his hips to thrust into his fist until he can’t bear it any longer.

Brian wipes his palm off on his jeans and doesn’t bother doing them back up, just pulls Freddie closer to him and waits for his heart to slow down again. 

Freddie’s still half out of it, face tucked away—it’ll be a while before Brian can get any sense out of him so there’s no point trying to get him up yet.He just kisses his hair again and settles back against the sofa, privately thinking that if _this_ is the result, he doesn’t mind if Freddie wants to mess with his solos every bloody night from now on.


End file.
